


Budds

by ProseApothecary



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Basically a series of domestic drabbles with a semblance of plot, F/M, M/M, Probably the least explicit friends with benefits fic ever written, Roommates, Set after s5E8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Mutt is up Schitt's Creek. Stevie lends him a canoe.





	1. Chapter 1

Stevie is half-asleep, playing Solitaire on her computer when she hears a small cough.

“God. Mutt. Hi. Um, what are you doing here?”

“Regrouping,” says Mutt, who’s never been one for explanations. “How long can I book a room for?”

“Uh, so we’re actually booked out. For a couple weeks.”

“Huh. Things really have changed since I left.”

Stevie huffs a laugh. “Yeah, you don’t know the half of it.”

There’s a slight pause.

“Well, thanks anyway,” Mutt says, turning to leave. Stevie’s pretty sure he’s not going to be staying with the Schitts, not with Roland, and he doesn’t have a car.

“Wait,” she says, “um, do you have a place you can stay?”

Mutt shrugs. “I’ll get a bus to the next town.”

Mutt’s lived here. He must know that expecting a bus past seven o’clock is some kind of urban fever dream.

“You can stay at my place.” she says, and then, because Mutt is raising an eyebrow, adds “I’m not propositioning you. I just feel weird about letting someone I was kinda friends with in high school go homeless for a couple nights.”

If it’s a few inches out of Stevie’s comfort zone, it’s clearly a whole township away from Mutt’s. Equally clearly, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“Thanks,” he says after a pause. “That’s…generous. Can I book the next available room though?”

Stevie sets it up for him. Then, they wait. She still has a few minutes left in her shift.

There’s a pause.

“…I didn’t know we were “kinda friends” in high school,” Mutt says thoughtfully. It’s hard to tell if he’s teasing. He’s never been the most expressive. “I thought we hung out because I was your weed guy?”

“That was only like, 85% of the reason.”

“Oh? What was the other 15%?”

She’s not sure. “Your genial personality?” she attempts, then feels a little bad. It’s the kind of joke that people make at her expense.

But Mutt just looks at her, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Yeah. Working on that.”

“Well you don’t push Ted into lockers anymore, so I’d say you’ve improved.“

“If I’m being totally honest…that’s a lot more difficult than you’d expect.”

Stevie snorts. “Tell me about it. But you know, you can divert the urge for physical violence into asking him to explain his puns. Once I had this… _encounter_ with nightshade, and he came in saying it was lucky I worked “in _hospital_ ity”, so I wasn’t going to “do anything _rash_.” I just kept asking him to explain. By the eighth time he was having some kind of existential crisis. It was one of my better Mondays.”

“Huh. I never really appreciated your ability to psychologically destroy a man.”

“I don’t know how you could’ve missed it. I’m pretty sure I was voted ‘Most Likely to Traumatise Someone’ in our high school yearbook. Besides, it’s Ted. He’s not like, a challenge.”

Mutt smiles for real this time. “I’m pretty sure you were voted “Most Likely to Get the Guy”.

Stevie cringes. “That was just…life enjoying a moment of dramatic irony. But hey, ‘Most Likely to End Up in Prison’, one of us exceeded expectations.”

“Well, our police force is understaffed,” he says, grinning when Stevie laughs.

“Just what a girl wants to hear after inviting someone to spend the night at her house.” She checks her phone. “C’mon, delinquent, my shift’s up.”

 

“Care for a nightcap?”

“Thanks.”

Stevie half-fills his glass and hands it over, then fills hers to the top.

“…Celebrating something?”

“I’ve been recently dumped and you’re basically homeless. What’s not to celebrate?”

“Cheers to that,” says Mutt, clinking his glass with hers.

Seven drinks later, she’s realising that there’s another high school memory she should’ve retained. Neither of them were great with impulse control.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up the next morning, very hungover, stares at her arms for a second and wonders why she’s not wearing her college jersey PJs.

A bemused voice comes from her side. “Do you always check yourself out as soon as you wake up?”

Her memory of last night is suddenly a lot clearer.

“You dated Alexis,” she manages to retort. “you must be used to it by now.”

She looks over to where Mutt is sitting up in bed, hands resting on the duvet. He probably knows that this isn’t going to lead into something bigger. He’s probably hoping that, at least. Still, she thinks of Emir, and how much less hurt she would’ve been if they’d just been clear, and decides she should probably say something.  

“Um. Just so we’re on the same page. This isn’t going to be a romantic…thing. It’s a non-thing.”

“On the same page,” says Mutt. “Maybe it could be a recurring non-event, though?”

Stevie looks at the green in his eyes, the hills and valleys of his arms, and chest, and torso, shifting slightly as he moves.

“Potentially.”

 

As it turns out, the idea has a lot of potential. The bed has potential, the couch has potential, and Stevie thinks the shower _would_ have a lot of potential if Mutt stopped glancing guiltily at the shower timer.

They don’t always exercise their full potential. Sometimes they just sit together on the old faded couch and unwind in their own ways.

They only _sleep_ together when they sleep together, which Stevie thinks is probably a bit arbitrary, but she’s also not going to complain about boundaries, not after Emir.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The advantages of boundaries become obvious pretty early on. Especially when Stevie wakes up to see Mutt in a very familiar red and black shirt.

“Hey.  Snuffleupagus. What are you doing in my clothes?”

Mutt turns to look at her. “Snuffleupagus?”

“You’re hairy and you have freakishly long eyelashes. Stop avoiding the question.”

“Testing a hypothesis. I thought this would fit. Despite me being twice as tall as you.”

“Well, you have the hip-to-waist ratio of an impoverished Victorian boy, so that makes sense to me.”

“There was a compliment in there somewhere, and I’m going to take it. So thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank the wave of consumption that hit your village in the 1800s.”

“You know you’re buying clothes that are about eight sizes too big?”

“I’d never realised. Thank God I had a man to tell me.”

“I’m stealing this one,” Mutt says. “Fits me better.”

“No you’re not. It’s the perfect fit for working the desk all day at a motel full of creepy patrons with wandering eyes.”

“Ah. Would it help if I hung around the desk, pretending to be your hostile hick boyfriend?”

“It really wouldn’t,” says Stevie, “but thanks.”

“I just feel like I should be doing something to help out. Since I’m staying here for free. Like cleaning, or cooking.”

The thought of Mutt cooking her meals is a little too boyfriendy for her to countenance.

“You could start by giving back my flannel.”

Mutt rolls his eyes and throws it back to her.

 

She comes home the next day to see him making something that looks _very_ earthy.

“...Hey. Bear Grylls. I thought we settled on no cooking.”

“Well, you don’t have to eat it. But I’m not having cereal for dinner again.”

Stevie blinks. “Fine,” she says, dishing herself up a bowl.

“Um. It’s not done.”

“It’s ok,” she says, “I’ve built up my immunity to food poisoning. And I’m hungry.”

She takes a bite. “This is…actually good.”

“I’m an adult,” he says, “I know how to cook.”

“That feels _pointed_.”

“I don’t know why it would. I loved the instant noodle ketchup omelette we had last week.”

“Lucky you,” Stevie says. “That’s tomorrow’s dinner.”

Mutt smiles at her. “Lucky me.”

Stevie feels something flip-flop in her stomach. Probably just the thought of the ramenlette.

It had better be.


	4. Chapter 4

Stevie means to keep her promise about cooking, she really does, except that every time she reaches to get something down from the kitchen shelf at least six packets of ketchup fall on the floor.

Mutt stops and stares at the scene that’s unfolding as he walks past.

“Should I order pizza?”

“Yes please.”

Mutt gets his phone out. “Do I want to know how you accumulated twenty packets of ketchup?”

“Let’s just say I’m banned from the nearest McDonald’s.”

“Right.” He backs out of the kitchen.

“Wait…You know when you said you wanted to do something to make up for staying at my place for free?”

“Mm. Was that before or after I started doing half the cooking?”

“Pretty sure it was after. Anyway.” She gestures to the ketchup shelf. “It looks like I need to shop for some more shelving. And if I go alone, there is a good chance I will get lost in Ikea and lose my mind.”

“…Isn’t this the type of thing that David would enjoy?”

“I don’t want it to turn into a six-month life makeover.”

“…So I have the perfect level of non-committal?”

“Mm. That is exactly how I would describe you.”

Mutt raises an eyebrow.

“And I’ve heard that for a someone who lived in a barn, you have uncharacteristically good interior design skills, so…”

“You’re buying me an Ikea lunch.”

“Deal.”

 

While they pace the aisles, Stevie glances over at Mutt who is looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“Are you ok? Do you have some kind of traumatic history with Ikea?”

“Last time I was here Twyla tried to eat the plastic fruit. And not just once. She was really insistent that at least one of them would be real.”

“Ooh. Was she right?”

“…Isn’t not knowing part of the charm?”

“You’re so right,” Stevie says solemnly, “keep the mystery alive.”

“Ooh,” says Stevie, getting distracted by a display kitchen. “Maybe I should just buy this whole room. Could probably fit 300 ketchup packets in here.”

“Buying whole rooms? Isn’t that what Ted did with his apartment?”

“Point taken,” says Stevie. “Moving on.”

 

Half an hour later, Stevie’s carrying a box of retractable shelving to the bus stop.

“…Do you want some help with that?” Mutt asks.

“I got it.”

“You have a shocking amount of upper body strength for your tiny, diminutive, pixie-like stature.”

Stevie sticks her tongue out at him.

“High school Stevie would’ve given me the finger. You’re losing your edge.”

Stevie hands over the box just so that she can stick her middle fingers up at him.

“Wow. Doubles. You making up for lost time?”

“It’s been a while. You needed to get reacquainted.”

Mutt lifts the box. “Do you want this back, or…?”

Stevie pretends to think about it for a second. “Mm, no I don’t think so.” Without the box, she overtakes Mutt.

“Come along, Bigfoot.”

“Is it just me, or are your nicknames getting meaner?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, packet of stale Cheeto crumbs.”

“Who would’ve thought you were a pet name kind of person?” Mutt calls after her.

She turns around to glare at him before continuing on, comebackless, leaving Mutt grinning.

 

“Does this count as remodelling?” Stevie says, staring at the new shelf in her kitchen. “It feels like something an actual adult would do.”

“Mm. All adults have a shelf dedicated to ketchup and instant noodles.”

“Ok,” says Stevie, “so we’re better than real adults.”

“Oh, infinitely,” Mutt says, and Stevie can see the smile on his face out of the corner of her eye. And she’s not sure how long they can stand here, looking at a 20-dollar Ikea shelf like proud parents, but she wants to just a little longer.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s only so much responsible adult-ing Stevie can do.

She can’t help it if the motel has slow days, or if she invites Mutt to visit reception on one of those days, or if things happen. And if David happens to look for her in the backroom and _sees_ things happening…ok, maybe she needs to stop having private time at work, but also, David has no right to look that scandalised, when she has a list of all the gross people and gross things he’s done in the past.

“Oh my God. I’m just going to…leave.” He hurries out, before Stevie has time to react.

Mutt raises an eyebrow, still irritatingly unfazed. “Maybe this should be more of a your place thing,”

Stevie gives him a look. “I need to go to the shop and…defuse things.”

“Can you get one of their shaving kits while you’re there?”

Stevie looks at him. “Really? _That’s_ your main concern right now?”

“It’s definitely in my top 3.”

“Fine,” says Stevie. “One condition. How good are you at being a receptionist?”

 

Ten minutes later she’s opening the doors of Rose Apothecary. Patrick grins at her when she comes in. “Busy morning?”

“So you told Patrick, then?” Stevie says into the backroom where she can hear David shuffling around.

David walks out, holding a hand over his eyes. “I can’t just see a war crime unfolding and not speak up.”

“David,” Patrick warns, and Stevie half-expects him to add some progressive dad idiom, like “this is a judgement-free zone”, or “let’s make the shop a safe space.”

“Listen,” says Stevie, “I’m sorry you had to see that, and maybe it should’ve gone down somewhere a little bit more private, but, while I’m sure you and Patrick have everything scheduled, for me, sometimes things just _happen-_ ”

“Oh my God,” says David, moving his hands from his eyes to his ears. “Just…why him?”

“We’re not _dating_. And he’s not, like,…a bad guy.”

“Really? Because I may have heard some things about him in high school that add to the long list of reasons I’m glad I didn’t grow up here.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t have been in trouble. He targeted extroverted, bubbly…well-liked people.”

 “Like Patrick?” David says, not sounding appeased.

“…I don’t think any of us want to be judged on who we were in high school.”

“Maybe not,” says David, “but at least candy ravers are a pacifist people-“

“He’s trying.” Stevie interrupts. “I’ve found a rebound who also happens to be one of those rare people I can stand to be around. We’re not getting married, we just eat pizza, play video games, and have sex. It’s _really_ not a big deal.”

David and Patrick are both looking at her.

“So you hang out? When you’re not…horizontal? Or in this case, kinda diagonally perched-”

“We’re friends,” Stevie interrupts.

“It’s like you’ve learnt nothing from every friends-with-benefits movie I’ve made you watch. If you don’t want to fall for the fuck buddy, I suggest you get out now.”

“If my life were a romcom, I would know by now.”

“I think it’s good,” Patrick says, “that you’re moving on.”

“Does anyone care what I think?“ David asks.

“No,” Stevie and Patrick respond simultaneously, grinning at each other.

“Wait, do you even know who we’re talking about?” Stevie asks Patrick.

Patrick turns to David. “Mutt’s the tall, ruggedly handsome guy who came into the store the other day, right?”

David’s mouth twists. “Kinda smells like hay? Yeah, that’s him.”

“Was it hay?” asks Patrick. “I thought it was sandalwood.”

“Well, you didn’t do a scent-detection course in a Parisian perfumery, so…”

“Huh,” says Stevie, “his cologne is definitely sandalwood.”

“It has undertones of hay. We’re actually really busy at the moment, so unless you’re buying something-”

“Oh, I am. Do you have a men’s shaving kit?”

David gets one down. “Is this for Mutt? Between knowing his cologne and buying gifts for each other, it kinda sounds like you two are closer than you’re letting on.”

“It’s for me. Gender’s a construct invented to sell women more expensive razors.” She pauses, feeling something between excitement and dread. “Wait, what do you mean ‘for each other’? What did he buy?”

“Ok,” says David, “he _may_ have been getting it for himself? But in hindsight, it’s a pretty _you_ kind of-”

“If it’s a gift,” Patrick jumps in. “He probably wanted it to be a _surprise_.”

David rolls his eyes and hands over the kit. Stevie gets out her wallet. “I’ll give you an extra fiver if you tell me what it was.”

David opens his mouth and Patrick immediately clamps his hand over it. “Bribery is intentionally exempt from Rose Apothecary’s values statement. Have a nice day.”

Stevie goes, turning around at the door to add “I’ll let Mutt know you like his cologne.”

Patrick keeps a hand firmly over David’s mouth. David manages equally well with gestures.

 

Mutt’s migrated to the couch by the time she gets back to the motel. It’s not best receptionist practice, but they haven’t had any guests all day, so she goes to join him.

“Thanks,” he says when she hands over the kit. “How much?”

“Don’t worry about it. The entire experience cost my dignity more than my funds.”

“Ah. Wish I had any dignity left to repay you.”

“Mm. Well, once your beard is trimmed and you look less like Dumbledore, I’m sure you’ll have a _little_ more.”

“Actually. I was thinking of shaving it off.”

"...Huh."

Mutt quirks an eyebrow. “But I don’t know. What do you think?”

Stevie inspects his face. She clasps her hand over Mutt’s mouth and chin. “Without.” She takes her hand away. “With.”

She does it a few more times, because she starts to really enjoy the stupefied and somewhat pained look it makes Mutt give her.

Stevie shrugs. “I think I like them both.”

“Really? After all that, your answer is both?”

“Maybe I need to compare them again,” Stevie says, readying her hand.

“You’re a menace,” says Mutt, grabbing her wrist.

She wriggles free and pushes him back onto the couch. She pulls a white cushion from under his head.

“Am I about to be smothered?”

“Not today.” She places the cushion under his mouth and laughs. “Ok, so I think you should embrace the Dumbledore look. Grow it out and dye it white.”

Mutt just stares at her. “I’m sorry, did you just…giggle?”

“I laughed.”

“Oh no, that was a giggle. There was practically a squeal and everything.”

“I laughed. At your dumb face.”

“Oh, my dumb face? Does that mean I should shave the beard?”

“Trust me, it’s not the beard’s fault,” she says, and maybe she laughs again. A chuckle, if anything.

Mutt looks at her in awe. “Another!”

“Shh,” says Stevie, promptly shutting him up with a kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

The beard stays, and Stevie’s sort of glad. She’s used to it now. She’s getting used to a lot of things. Finding tighty-whities in the laundry. Eating salads for dinner. Hearing Enya’s discography emanate from the shower.

Still not used to the meditating.

Mutt hasn’t moved since she came home. Still sitting in the middle of her living room with legs crossed and eyes closed. Definitely a bit creepy.

“Mutt? Are you dead? Can I get a tenant who pays rent now?”

Mutt resolutely doesn’t open his eyes.

“Mutt?” says Stevie, feeling slightly more panicked.

He opens his eyes. “Not dead. Just guilt-tripping.”

“Ok, well joke’s on you, because a lifetime of Jaeger bombs has deadened my ability to feel remorse.”

“That explains a lot.”

 “Ok,” says Stevie, “so I get that meditating is very… _on brand_ for you-”

Stevie watches Mutt mouth the words “on brand?” back at her.

“-but _why_? And don’t try to tell me it’s a natural high or something, because I won’t believe you.”

“Are natural highs also my brand?”

“Oh yeah. Also artificial highs. Your brand is not fussy.”

Mutt grins and shakes his head a little.

“It’s just something I do to relax. Back when Twyla and I were dating, she may have implied that someone who pushed people into lockers probably didn’t have a huge amount of inner peace. So…we started this.”

“Oh. Ok. That makes sense.”

She’s still standing there, so he asks, “Do you want to join in?”

“Why?” she asks suspiciously. “Do I seem like I have inner turmoil?”

Mutt laughs. “No, I think you’re pretty clear on how you feel about things.”

“Ok,” say Stevie, “well, as appealing as it sounds to be trapped in a tunnel of my own thoughts for hours with no distractions, I think I’m going to pass.”

“Ok,” says Mutt, and waits, because she hasn’t moved.

She doesn’t know why she hasn’t moved, except that she wants to watch. That she thinks it would be kinda nice to see Mutt all happy and peaceful. Which she’s not going to say, because she’s not some kind of creepy happiness voyeur, and she has a sense of pride. Or at least a sense of shame.

“You know,” says Mutt , “there are other things you can do to relax. Like couples yoga. Which I hear is even more effective if you take photos and upload them to Instagram-“

“Bye,” says Stevie, walking off.

She peeks around the corner a minute later only for Mutt to look back at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking up on you. You’re supposed to be meditating. I mean, otherwise you’re just lazing around, daydreaming, which…oh, now I see why it appeals.”

“Someone’s distracting me.”

“Oh. You’re having trouble performing? Do you need some help?”

He shushes her, smiling.

“Close your eyes,” she insists until he does so. “Ok, how do these go? You’re in a wood, there’s a light breeze. Lute music. A stream. Clouds. Squirrels. Oh no, it looks like the clouds are greying and a storm is brewing. Oh God, the squirrel’s been struck by lightning-”

“I take it back,” says Mutt, opening his eyes, “you definitely have some inner turmoil.”

“Sh,” she says, “you’re terrible at this. Here, I’ll demonstrate technique.” She closes her eyes for a few seconds, and Mutt’s standing in front of her when she opens them.

“See? You just-“ Mutt leans in to kiss her and she falls back against the doorframe, bringing her hands to rest on the back of his neck.

“I hear there are a lot of paths to inner peace,” she says as she glides her fingers up through his hair.

“Huh,” says Mutt, kissing a line down her neck. “You’ll have to show me.”


	7. Chapter 7

Turns out inner peace does not last more than a day.

 

“Are you…ok?” Mutt asks Stevie as she paces the room.

“No,” she says, and then, because Mutt is looking concerned, adds, “I’m _fine_ , I just….do you remember when you mentioned couples yoga?”

“Oh. I mean, I was joking, but-“

“ _I_ know that. _Jocelyn_ doesn’t know that.”

“…Ok, well I haven’t mentioned anything about it to _Jocelyn_ , so…”

“I may have…referenced what you said at rehearsal. As a joke. And now Jocelyn thinks it’s an _excellent_ idea for the actors to bond and warm up.”

“Wait,” says Mutt, who is smiling too much for such terrible news, “rehearsal? You’re in the Cabaret adaptation?”

“…No.”

“You’re acting. In Cabaret. And you recount me telling jokes. At rehearsal.”

“ _No_ ,” says Stevie emphatically. “And I don’t _recount_ our conversations.”

“Oh, so you just _stole_ my joke.”

“ _No_ , everyone was just talking so _seriously_ about warming up through… interpretive dance and scatting and pretending to be a tree and I couldn’t _not_ say anything so I just kinda…made an inside joke.”

“Mm. But I wasn’t there. So you just made an inside joke…to yourself.”

“Welcome to my life. Are you going to help me or not?”

“I don’t know how you expect me to get you out of this.”

“Oh it’s going to happen, and it’s going to be humiliating. But it’s going to be slightly less humiliating if I can actually do it.”

Mutt grins. “You’re asking me to practice couples yoga with you?”

“As my last resort.”

“Oh, well, how can I say no? When you ask so nicely.”

“Just know that if you use the words “self-actualise”, or “spiritual energies”, I will drop you, and it won’t be an accident.”

“You’re a beginner. I’m not going to let you carry me.”

“Isn’t partner yoga supposed to be about trust?”

“Oh, maybe I should carry _you_ then.”

“I let a vagrant crash at my home. If anything, I’m already _too_ trusting.”

“Who’s the vagrant?” asks Mutt. “As your live-in maid, cook and yogi, I feel like I should know.”

“You’d really rather be my butler than my vagrant?”

“ _Your_ vagrant?” says Mutt, sounding a little indignant and a little amused.

“You know what I mean “

Mutt just raises an eyebrow in that way that says _no, I don’t, tell me._

“Can we get the yoga over and done with?”

“We’ll start with something easy. Just sit cross-legged,” Mutt says, then does the same, so they’re sitting back-to-back. “Rest your hands on your knees. And breathe in when I breathe out. And vice versa.”

Stevie doesn’t know why it’s so difficult, but it _is._ “I can _feel_ you laughing.”

“Maybe I’m just vibrating with spiritual energies.”

She elbows him in the stomach.

“Ow. Ok, stop stopping and starting, just. Breathe like a normal person, and I’ll match you.”

Stevie tries.

“…So even breathing like a normal person is a struggle for you, huh?”

“Um, it is when I have to think about it.”

“So think about something else for now.  The draught in your living room. The sounds of daytime television next door.”

Stevie’s not sure how serious he’s being, but she follows the advice anyway.

“You got it,” he says, and Stevie feels it, Mutt’s inhalation pushing the breath out of her, breathing in as he makes space for her.  The rhythm they’ve established.

 

As a kid, sometimes she would pull at her doona until it resembled a crater. Stay there, with her toys, feeling safe and contained in this little bubble away from her parents, away from the world.  She remembers the feeling, now.

 

Stevie wonders if maybe Mutt feels a little like that too, because it’s a minute before he says anything.

“Ok, now put your right hand on my left knee.”

“And just leave it there?” This suddenly feels a little less safe.

Mutt raises an eyebrow at her scandalised voice. “Because _this_ is the awkwardest position we’ve ever been in?”

And no, it’s not, but it _is_ , because there’s a huge difference between something drunken and quick and messy and just putting your hands on somebody and _leaving_ them there.

She hovers her hands a millimetre above him. “Like this?”

“Is this the middle-school dance?”

She rolls her eyes and grabs his lower thigh instead, feeling him tense a little. “Like this?”

“Close enough.”

He mirrors her, hand resting on her knee. And she’s sure that if she would be laughing if she could see herself, but it’s kind of nice, being all wrapped up in someone like this. Or not _someone_ , because she can’t imagine this would have been remotely comfortable with David, or Jake, or Emir…

She takes her hand off his knee. She does _not_ have a thing for Mutt, because she’s not some naieve townie 20 year-old, and she didn’t plan on joining half the female population of Schitt’s Creek by having her heart broken by him.

“ _Ok_ ,” says Mutt, turning around, “so you have the position down. But we’ve only been doing this for five minutes, so endurance could use a _little_ work.”

Stevie turns to face him. “I know a lot of positions,” she says, because she wants a distraction, and _this_ is allowed. “And I have excellent endurance.” She plants a kiss on his mouth, tries to make it less sweet and discomfortingly comfortable than what they were doing.

 “…So you’re throwing in the towel on the yoga then?”

“I mastered it.”

“Well…I mean, you learnt how to breathe. Generally newborns master that.”

“And how to sit weirdly.”

“Those _are_ the main tenets.”

She slips a hand up his torso, under his shirt, and Mutt kisses her quick before standing up. “Maybe later?”

Which is fine, Stevie’s used to not getting what she wants, but she feels weird about that kiss, because if Mutt thinks she needs pitying compensation kisses, then he must think she needs _him_ , and she should definitely set him right about that.

She stands up, aiming for nonchalance, and ends up toppling into Mutt’s arms.

Mutt looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Five minutes of exercise really took it out of you, huh?”

“My leg fell asleep,” Stevie mutters.

“Hm. Do you think you’ll make it through?”

“I don’t know. Yoga seems very hazardous so far.”

“Oh, it is. That’s why Twyla’s classes are mostly made up of 70 year-olds. I mean, none of _them_ have had a fall yet, but-”

“Ok,” says Stevie. “I’m going for a walk.”

“You sure? There’s not gonna be a qualified yogi to catch you out there.”

“Oh my God. Goodbye.”

She walks out, trying not to think about the fact that it’s only _then_ that Mutt drops his hands, and that it’s suddenly a little colder.

She’s going to have to get used to it, after all. A room’s opened up at the motel, and as soon as he moves in she’s pretty sure their interactions are going to be limited to complaints about the limited breakfast selection and the persistent smell of formaldehyde.

She arrives at the park just as dusk hits, watches the gold filter from the sky, replaced by blues and blacks.

She tries not to miss it.


	8. Chapter 8

Complaints come a little sooner than expected.

“So,” says Mutt as soon as she opens the door to her apartment, “my bathroom mirror was covered in a cloud of red lipstick on it with ‘beard ideas’ written next to it. Must’ve been a break-in.”

Stevie can’t help a smile. “I’m home sick today. Please direct all motel complaints to Mr Rose.”

“What about gifts?” Mutt says, holding up a bag. “This was kind of a dual-purpose visit.”

“Gifts can definitely be directed to me.”

Mutt pulls a bottle of whiskey from the bag. “Thanks,” he says, handing it over, “for letting me stay.”

She recognises the Rose Apothecary label. “Woah. Normally when a guy buys me a drink, they have a ten dollar cap.”

Mutt shrugs it off. “Well, it’s less than rent would’ve been…”

“And yet, more than a night at the Rosebud. How is motel life treating you?”

“Great. Except I have a feeling the staff don’t clean under the beds,” he says, tilting his head at Stevie.

“I just figured our resident gutterpunk would want the free food.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to some free whiskey.”

Asking for an invite is a new look for Mutt. And maybe Stevie finds it a little flattering, but she’s also in the middle of a cold, and her libido has some limits.

“Right. It’s just, I’m sick, so, um, nothing’s going to happen.”

“Ok,” says Mutt, and doesn’t move.

“…Uh, do you want to come in, drink this whiskey and play video games with me while I sneeze in your general direction?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

_Host extraodinaire_ , Stevie thinks as she brings out a plate of the cold pizza she had leftover from last night. Once she and Mutt take a slice, there’s only one left, but hey, she tried.

“So,” Mutt says, tilting his head at the TV, “I may need some instruction here.”

“You’ve never played this game before?”

“Uh, I’ve never played a video game before.”

“You’re telling me Alexis never introduced you to Resident Evil? I’m shocked.”

“Ok, why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Bring up Alexis, all the time. That was years ago.”

“I don’t know,” says Stevie, and she doesn’t really. “I guess it’s just kinda funny to me. I mean you had a thing with Twyla, and Alexis, and me, and none of us are exactly _peas in a pod_. Have you considered that maybe you just have a thing for every woman on Earth?”

“…Are you asking me if I screw anything that moves?”

“Well,” says Stevie, not loving where this conversation is going, or the fact that Mutt looks like he might actually be a little hurt. “I mean, I think my wording was _classier_.”

“For the record, you and Alexis aren’t that different.”

_Ok, maybe she deserved that._

“You’re both tough. You can handle yourselves.”

_Oh God. Flattery. Somehow worse._

“I mean, you’re funnier.” Mutt says. “And you have much better taste in music.”

“I wasn’t fishing for that.”

“I _know_. God, you’re the most compliment-avoidant person I’ve ever met.”

Stevie thinks a comment about Alexis would be very fitting. But she doesn’t want the conversation to go in circles. “I’m not. I just don’t like fakeness.”

“And whenever says something nice to you, you assume it’s fake?”

“Some new-agey aphorisms does not a therapist make.” Stevie reaches for the last piece of pizza.

Mutt yanks it from her and lifts it up.

“Stop abusing your tall-person privilege.”

“Say something nice about yourself.”

“What?”

“Say something nice about yourself, and you get the pizza back.”

“I’m a lot more mature than you.”

Mutt tilts his head. “Probably true, but didn’t feel sincere.”

“Oh my God. You do it, then.”

“What?”

“You can go ahead and take a bite of my pizza, and I _won’t_ murder you, just as long as you compliment yourself.”

Mutt squirms.

“See? Not that easy.’

“Fine,” says Mutt. “I’ll do yours-”

“I’ll do _yours_ ,” says Stevie, because she needs to drink a lot more whiskey before she gets complimented. “Ok. Well. You make me laugh-“

“Giggle,” Mutt insists.

“Occasionally on purpose. And I don’t know if you still worry about being…bad. But you’re not. You have this sense of responsibility for everything. Thinking you need to cook and clean for me when you’re staying here. Hiking to Elmdale to get your bamboo underwear and shower timers. Spending an hour cleaning the recycling that time I was wasted and dropped a whole box of chow mein in there. So, um. All the penguins on those melting icecaps are probably lining up to shake your hand.”

Mutt just looks at her and smiles in a way that’s _extremely_ disquieting. For the first time, Stevie feels the need to fill a silence.

“I mean, I don’t know if they can shake hands, technically? They’d probably just end up slapping you with their flippers or something. Which I would pay to see, incidentally.”

“Your turn,” Mutt says and suddenly Stevie’s thinking of the compliments she got from exes, and she can’t really bear to her something about her ass or her waistline, not after she just humiliated herself.

“You already did mine,” she says hurriedly. “The excellent music taste and everything.”

“I have more,” he says and Stevie feels her whole body flush.

“You can’t participate, because then I’d be obliged to give you a bite of my pizza,” she says, grabbing the slice off him and finishing it off. She wipes her hands and grabs the controller off the side of the couch, throwing it in his lap. “C’mon, little Luddite. I’m sure you’ll get the hang after I win the first eight games.”

She grabs the remote. “Don’t be scared,” she says as the TV screen lights up. “It’s just electricity.”

She waits for a comeback, but Mutt’s just sitting there watching her with traces of a smile on his face. It’s intensely irritating, but she can’t stop glancing over.

Doesn’t stop her from winning.

 

Her winning streak is slightly marred by the fact that she falls asleep halfway through the 3rd game. She blames the cold medicine.

When she wakes up, Mutt is gone, but his flannel shirt’s on top of her. It’s disgustingly chivalrous, really, but she’s cold, and she kinda likes the smell of soap and sandalwood that attaches to everything Mutt owns, so she slips it on.

Mutt comes out of the kitchen and she realises she might’ve been a little too hasty.

“Huh,” he says. ‘Is that yours?”

“Isn’t it? When someone throws clothes at me, I usually just assume they’re returning my property.”

“Suits you. You should keep it. In return for your red and black flannel, obviously.”

Stevie wrinkles her nose like she has to thjnk about it. “Fine. But I get visitation rights.”

“Deal. As long as you eat something other than pizza today,” he says, putting a bowl of soup down on the table in front of her.

 

Mutt sleeps over, and Stevie’s cold clears up the next day. He insists it’s because of the soup. Stevie tells him that thinking viruses get quenched by hot flavoured water is delusional, but he doesn’t pay any attention.


	9. Chapter 9

Unfortunately the end of her cold means Stevie no longer has an excuse not to go to rehearsal. Doubly unfortunately, Jocelyn decides it’s a good day to start the partner yoga. After one bruised elbow, one misplaced hand and one near-drop, she and Patrick end up agreeing to never disclose the details to anyone.

“How was it?” Mutt asks when she walks in.

“Survivable. How was lunch with Roland Junior?”

“I had to change shirts after he puked on me. So I think we really bonded.”

Stevie joins him on the couch. “Funny. I think that’s how Roland Senior bonds with people too.”

Mutt smiles. “Only if you offer him free Appletinis.”

There’s a pause. “Do you ever see him?” 

“Sometimes,” Mutt says, a little surprised at the turn of conversation. “It’s just, I know I’m never going to live up to his expectations, because we don’t want the same things, so…there’s not much point.”

“Ok. I’m not saying you’re wrong. And God knows, if Roland were my father I would try my best to forget it. But, I mean, the fact that they even _have_ expectations for you, means- well, you’re doing better than me.”

Mutt looks at her incredulously. “You won an award for your work. And,” he says, pulling a ticket to Cabaret dramatically out of his pocket. “I’ve been reliably informed that you’re on the way to an Oscar.”

“…I wasn’t fishing for that. The compliments or the ticket-buying. In fact, people I know are actually banned from watching me perform, so-”

Mutt gives her a look approaching affectionate exasperation. “Jesus, Stevie-”

She doesn’t want to hear it, so she leans in and kisses him, laying back on the couch and pulling him down on top of her.

But there’s a lump in her throat stopping her from wanting to take this further, and Just a Kiss isn’t allowed, not in the rules of this game, the rules she made up.

So she lies there, stuck, feeling her eyes burn, wanting to say _I really like you_ and _I wish I didn’t always screw myself over_ and _one day I’m going to learn to stop wanting things_ and doesn’t say anything, just twists her head and blinks into the couch cushion.

“Stevie,” says Mutt, sounding lost. She doesn’t blame him.

He sits up and she follows. “It’s fine,” she says, “I’m fine. Sorry.”

Her hair’s fallen across her face, strands sticking to tear tracks, and really, she thinks, it would be the perfect time for Mutt to use his nicknames against her.

But he just tucks her hair back, thumb brushing over the shell of her ear.

She takes a wobbly breath. “I think I need some time alone.”

His hand drops. “How long?”


	10. Chapter 10

One day turns into two, turns into three. She’s sitting at reception, wondering what her next move is, when Alexis comes up.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Alexis says, grinning at her.

“Hi…Can I help you?”

“A little birdie told me something about you and a certain rugged, backwoods type. I thought maybe we could chat about it.”

Stevie panics a little. “Oh. I mean, I don’t know if we’re even still-“

“I’m busy right now. But maybe you can come to our room at eight?”

Alexis leaves before Stevie can protest.

 

Alexis opens the door the second Stevie knocks. “Hi!” she drags Stevie over to her bed. “Come, sit.”

Stevie hesitantly sits.

“Would you prefer a strawberry or hibiscus face mask?”

“…I thought you wanted to talk about Mutt.”

“Oh, I do, but we should start with the masks, cause we need to leave them on for half an hour.”

Stevie wonders if she can speed this confrontation up a bit. “Listen, I get it if you’re upset-”

“Upset? About Mutt? I’m happy for you. And totally devoted to Ted.”

Stevie thinks about the dozens of photos of them she has to scroll through every time she opens Facebook.

“So…you’re fine. Did you…guilt me into having a spa night with you?”

“No! I mean, have my pamper days been down since Twyla went on vacation? Sure. But I did want to talk about Mutt with you. You know, now that we’re twinsies, we can have a little bonding sesh.”

 “…Do you usually bond with women over having slept with the same guy?”

“Don’t you?”

“…I don’t usually bond.”

“Well thank God for spa products,” Alexis says, smearing some strawberry face mask onto Stevie’s face.

Stevie wrinkles her nose. “Is it supposed to sting?”

“We all have to put up with little irritants. Speaking of. Does Mutt still do that thing where he pretends to be asleep whenever you start a conversation?”

“Um. I don’t _think_ so.”

“You can tell by pinching him. He opens his eyes straight away.”

“Oh. That is…helpful.”

Alexis squirts some moisturiser into Stevie’s hands. “At least he’s decided to keep the beard. God forbid he decides to shave it off again, you will not have a day of warning.”

“…Huh. He didn’t check in with you?”

“Unacceptable, right?”

“I mean…it is _his_ face.”

“But _I_ had to kiss it.”

 “You’ve been keeping all of this pent up for while, huh?”

“Well I couldn’t exactly talk about it with Twyla or Ted. And David will only listen to so much. So,” she smiles brightly, “now I’m giving you the gift I never had. The opportunity to get it all off your chest. All the little annoyances.”

“Oh.”

Alexis gives her an encouraging look.

Critiquing people usually comes easily. “Um. I mean. I know he basically lived in a cabin in the woods, but he’d never even heard of Yoda. Like, at that point you must be actively _avoiding_ pop culture, right?”

Alexis looks at her blankly. “…That’s what annoys you most about him? That he doesn’t know the name of some…celebrity?”

Stevie raises an eyebrow. “I mean I made him watch all the movies, so I guess it doesn’t really annoy me _anymore_ , but it’s like. A little pretentious.”

“Ok, but what about like, the way he always lectures you about leaving the hairdryer in too long and not turning off lights. Like, you think you care about polar bears on the ice caps more than I do? I _owned_ a polar bear.”

Stevie tries to remember a lecture. “Once I put the wrong thing in the recycling and he said I was a huge disappointment to Captain Planet. He was pretty high, but that still counts, right?”

“Ooh, does he still do that thing where he wants a ‘quiet night in’? And he just sits on the couch and reads books by guys who died hundreds of years ago. And doesn’t talk. For hours. Like an 80 year-old.”

Stevie sits up on the couch with her own book on those nights, sticking her feet under Mutt to keep them warm. Sometimes she glances up at him while he’s reading. It’s good practice for deciphering his microexpressions.

“Uh-huh. But I don’t mind a quiet night in.”

“Hm.” Alexis tilts her head. “Seems like you two work a lot better than we ever did.”

 “I think your mask is giving me chemical burns so uh, I’m gonna go wash this off.”

“Don’t use hand soap!” Alexis calls after her as she goes into the bathroom.

“Oh those aren’t chemical burns,” Alexis says helpfully when Stevie returns. “You’re just flushed.”

“I’m not flushed.”

“Mm, it’s getting worse though.”

She hears the sound of the door unlocking and David comes in a second later.

“…Why is Stevie blushing?”

“I’m not _blushing_.”

“She likes Mutt,” Alexis says offhandedly.

“Wha- I never said that.”

Alexis shrugs. “You’re not very good at hiding your emotions. Which is understandable, I mean you’ve never had to play dead in a mob den in Monaco.”

“Oh my God. Was this a covert interrogation the whole time?”

“Not the whole time. Like 25% of the way in.”

David looks at Stevie. “I told you. Every friends with benefits movie warned you this was going to happen. Remember that when you realise Roland is your father-in-law.”

“Since when was _marriage_ on the table?.”

Alexis pauses.  “Your couple name could be Flowerpot. Because you’re a Budd, and he sells a _lot_ of-”

“…Pretty sure just ‘Budd’ would cover that.” David interjects.

“True,” says Alexis, “Fuck Buddies is actually kind of perfect-”

“Ok,” says Stevie, “So I’m gonna go.”

“Ask him out,” Alexis says just as she’s turning away. “He’s not really a make-the-first-move kinda guy. He’s more of a bury-my-feelings-until-they-turn-into-compost kinda guy.”

David makes a sympathetic face. “That’s kind of Stevie’s brand.”

“Ok,” say Alexis, “well one of you is going to have to step up to the plate.”

“Why bring baseball into this?” David asks.

“It’s like, you’ve gotten to fourth base. But the fifth base is _love_.”

“Ew,” say David and Stevie simultaneously.

“Even I know that’s wrong,” David adds. “The fifth base is handcuffs.”

“I don’t know how many more brain cells I can safely lose in the course of one conversation,” Stevie says. “So I should go.”

“Are you going to run home? Or score a home run?” Alexis holds her hand up for a high-five that never comes.

“Run home,” says Stevie. “Thanks.”


	11. Chapter 11

Stevie has to wait for a late arrival the next day, and it turns out hours of Solitaire is not a distraction from a train wreck of a love life. It almost makes her grateful when the fire alarm starts blaring.

They’d already had a false alarm this month. She heads out and waits a minute or two, making sure that all the residents are at the evacuation point.

Johnny’s started marshalling people and talking to the firemen as they arrive. David’s wearing half a clay mask and glaring at everyone. Mutt’s sitting on a distant bench in his briefs, arms wrapped around his torso. Alexis keeps looking meaningfully between the two of them, whilst making increasingly obscene gestures.

She sighs. She should really go over there before he notices.

He gives her a tentative smile as she comes over.

“You know, smoking in the rooms can trigger the alarms…”

He rolls his eyes and gestures at his outfit. “Does it look like I was awake?”

“Fair. It was probably Mrs Morrow trying to make cookies on the hotplate again.” She slips off her flannel overshirt. “Here. Preserve your dignity.”

Mutt takes it. “I thought we agreed I didn’t have any?”

“Oh, we both know that. But they don’t.” She gestures to the crowd.

He slips it on and levels her gaze at her. “Are we going to talk about the other day?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Haven’t decided. It might be…consequential. I don’t like consequential.”

“Look on the bright side. Maybe we’ll fall victim to Mrs Morrow’s biscuit-based inferno. Then consequences pretty much go out the window.”

“Huh. Nihilistically comforting.”

Mutt shrugs. “Seemed like your brand.”

Something about the way Mutt says it makes her smile, and she tries to use that warm feeling to get the words out.

“I like you. Like, more than Mrs Morrow likes fire hazards.”

A smile spreads across Mutt's face, soft and earnest. “I like you too.”

“No,” says Stevie. “I _like_ you.”

Mutt brings a hand to her cheek and pulls her into a kiss. “We’re on the same page.”

 

God knows she's been more exposed than this, but she's not sure she's ever felt so seen. 

 

She rests her forehead against his. “Your nose is cold,” she complains.

“You taste like Doritos.”

“As if that’s a bad thing.”

Mutt hums and leans in for another kiss. “It’s growing on me.”

She feels the smile tugging at her lips. She lets it.

A cough breaks them out of their cocoon.

“Oh my God.” Stevie folds her hands in her lap and looks into the distance, where, she notices, all the residents have disappeared.

“Just so you know,” Johnny says, “It was a false alarm. And I’ll take care of that late arrival. So you’re free to go. Or stay, if you want.” He notices Mutt’s bare legs. “Although I hear it’s going to get down to subzero, so you might want to…get dressed.”

 “Thank you Mr Rose.” Stevie says hurriedly.

“I’ll…leave you to it, then,” he says, backing off with an awkward wave.

When she turns to Mutt there’s a smile on his face.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“What if I have to watch another video on Sexual Activity at Work?”

“ _Another?_ ”

“Uh-huh.  I’m practically an expert now.” She wants to kiss him. She remembers that’s allowed, now, leans in and presses a kiss to his lips.

“Come up?” Mutt asks. “I could really use your expertise.”

  

“I think I should carry you over the threshold,” Mutt says as he opens his door. “Now that we’re really dating.”

“That’s funny,” Stevie says darkly, and suddenly she’s being scooped up.

“I’m going to get you back for this,” she says as Mutt lays her on the couch.

“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “Looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teenage me: Why is "here, take my jacket," such an unnecessarily gendered trope?  
> Adult me, somehow still invested in this very small issue: THIS IS MY CHANCE.


	12. Epilogue

Mutt doesn’t think of Stevie as small. Oh, he keeps it in mind, as an easy way to tease her, but it never really sinks in. It’s probably because she always finds a way to be taller than him. Kneeling on his thighs, lying on top of him, hovering over him with her hands to the sides of his face.

So it’s always a little shock when he wakes up and sees her curled up, a tiny knoll on her side of the bed. She looks stubborn and determined, even in miniature. Even in sleep. Like a comet, flames of hair streaming behind her. Mutt is pretty sure he can see streaks of fiery auburn in it when the morning light hits them, but Stevie insists it’s just black.

She turns to him, sleepily, and smiles. “Stop perving,” she says throwing a stray cushion at him. He catches it before it can topple over her lamp.

“Your eyes are crusty,” he retorts.

“So are yours,” she says, laying back and closing her eyes again.

 

She shifts her head, just a little, to rest in the crook of his shoulder, and he lays an arm across her torso.

 

Comets need to be kept warm. If you want them to stay fiery.


End file.
